A/N: Just a head's up, every odd chapter is from Gene's POV and every even one is from Dan's. Please R+R

The flat was reasonably pleasant; it was certainly big enough, in fact, it would be quite desirable should he put it on the market. On paper, it sounded ideal: three bedrooms, a five minute walk from the town centre and one of the best schools in the area just down the road. The flat would have been perfect for a young family, but for him, it just didn't feel like home.

Gene hadn't felt like he was truly home since leaving Manchester. Perhaps for a brief period five or six years ago he had felt more attached to the place than before, but that had quickly waned.

Beer cans and cigarette butts littered the living room floor, the evidence of many a night's sorrow drowning. In amongst it all, Gene sat in a threadbare armchair, a fag in one hand, and a glass of cheap whiskey in the other.

He took a draught, lowered his hand and began to swirl the glass, watching the amber liquid ripple, undulating against the sides of the grubby glass. He inhaled tobacco smoke deeply, thinking of happier times. His current team was good, yes, but they weren't the best. He'd seen many come and go, but none before or since had been a patch upon CID from 1981-'83. They all left him in the end.

He had been through a rough patch after their departure. His days had consisted of a rather apathetic approach to policing, and his nights were, more often than not, spent in one scummy boozer or another, drinking himself into oblivion.

One such night, about a week after their leaving, Gene had been desperate, wanting to find some small memento, something that proved they, (or rather, she) had been there at all. Shaz's abandoned flat seemed the best option. He arrived there, leaning on the door frame heavily, massaging his temples as the world seemed to spin.

After mentally preparing himself, Gene had begun to thrust his shoulder into the door, staggering slightly after each blow: the door would not budge, but neither would his intense need to see beyond it. Gene had closed his eyes, taking deep, steadying breaths, deciding upon one final push. With all the strength he could muster, he put all his bodyweight behind the blow, ramming into the door again.

With a bang, the door shot open, ricocheting off the wall beside it, sending bits of broken door everywhere. Gene stepped inside.

The first thing he had noticed were the pictures. Dozens of photographs were attached to the wall, framed, or in piles on every available surface. Many Shaz's grinned down at him, often accompanied by one or more other person; he recognised Chris from a great number of the photos, and even spotted himself in one, hunched in his black coat, scowling at having his picture taken.

All these had been eclipsed in a second however, by a single framed photo on the far side of the room. Gene swept over to it and picked it up in his gloved hand. He stared for a moment before, still holding the photograph, he left.

Presently, the same photograph sat on the same coffee table in front of him. All around it there lay a thick layer of dust; the frame and glass were however, left untarnished, in stark contrast to everything else around them. Gene took another swig from the glass and reached for the photo, an action that had become habitual, almost a ritual.

Alex Drake smiled up at him, her eyes frozen forever more in laughter. Her arms were wide in a 'tah-dah' motion, the better for the camera to see her new party dress. Gene remembered that dress.

"I'm not going to a bloody Christmas party."

"Come on Guv, where's your Christmas spirit?"

"Up me arse."

"You do have a lovely turn of phrase," she grinned cheekily. "Come on Gene, I've got a new dress." He grunted, sounding uncommitted. "And, well for your information Gene, it's quite short. In fact, I'm glad you're not coming, I can imagine how prudish you'd be if you just so happened to see a bit too much." He looked up now; she had successfully got his attention.

"How short?"

"Oh it's short. You can see my ovaries." Alex giggled.

"Fine then." he had sighed, trying not to sound too eager.

Gene studied her face yet again. Retracing the familiar lines he knew by heart.

They had all known it. It was clear that she'd fancied the pants off him. They couldn't hide it; to Gene she was like no other woman in the world. She had puzzled him: even while they were arguing he had enjoyed himself; a day had felt incomplete without at least one row.

He was sure that she had never understood the depth of his feelings, and he had never been able to tell her. Wherever she was, he hoped she knew that he missed her. He wondered what it was like there, if she was with friends. With Shaz. And Chris. Ray.

He had had it all planned, somewhere in the back of his mind, subconsciously laying out his future for two. If they had spent just that little bit longer together, he would have made a move, and everything would've been fine. But all of a sudden, the wind had changed direction and that big, black, Keats-shaped cloud had come rolling into his perfect sky.

He knew now that he was destined to remain here forever. There would be no retirement. Those pints waiting for him in the Railway Arms would remain un-drunk for all eternity. He was needed here. Could he seriously leave an innocent public in the hands of his current CID?

They were alright, yes, but most were satisfied to just sit around doing paperwork and one-or-two, especially the women, were suckers for that psychiatry crap that Bolly and Sam had been oh-so-fond of. Gene was different, he had died wanting to be the big man, revered by coppers for miles around and feared by the scum.

And here he was. Old, alone and pissed in an armchair that had come from a charity shop.

"Be careful what you wish for, ay?" He slurred into the darkness, before letting his head loll to one side and his hand to go limp, pouring the remaining whiskey onto the carpet.

He fell into a fitful sleep, filled with disjointed, disturbing dreams. Many involved a bespectacled man in a trench coat.

"I'm not finished here Hunt."